


Sangria

by a_quick_drink



Category: Dead Drop (2013)
Genre: AUTHOR AU, Fluff, M/M, Rare Fandoms, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_quick_drink/pseuds/a_quick_drink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a best-selling author, Santiago's life revolves around romance despite having given up on the notion that he'd ever find any for himself. Taking a break from his writing, he goes for a walk through his vineyard and winds up finding a wounded stranger who refuses medical care. Though wary, Santiago can't possibly turn away the handsome man. It's like one of his novels, but can truth really be stranger than fiction?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sangria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dahlinjawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahlinjawn/gifts), [Casey_Wolfe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casey_Wolfe/gifts).



Putting pen to paper was the easy part--it was making the words that was hard. And with each passing day that he could no longer find the words to express himself, his despair grew along with the crumpled pages in his desk-side wastebasket. The deadline for his newest manuscript was a month away, and for the first time in his career as a professional writer he feared he wouldn't make it.

He loved writing--had ever since he was a boy filling stacks of notebooks with an endless fount of words. Like many of those old stories, he still wove action and adventure into many of his best-selling romance novels. Needing a change of pace, though, his newest story was a paranormal mystery. Or at least that's what it would be if writing it wasn't like pulling teeth.

Growling in frustration, Santiago tore another page from his notebook and crumpled it between his hands before throwing it out. The words that once flowed so easily from his heart had dried up.

During the divorce and subsequent empty home, he'd channeled all his heartbreak and loneliness into his work, managing four novels in two years. One of those won a prestigious award and the rest were among his top selling works.

But the success didn't keep him company at night, and as days turned into years and the pain dulled, his frustration manifested as an inability to write at the level he once had. His latest pieces were a shadow of his former works according to Rosita, his long time agent and friend, though she had managed to get all published anyway.

 _"You need to get out of that house already,"_ she often told him. _"Take a vacation, go have an adventure, get laid. Get out of your comfort zone."_

But what good was a vacation when you had no one to share it with? He wasn't the type to sleep around for the sake of it, so that didn't appeal to him either. An adventure did sound exciting but it also smacked of vacation vibes. How could he have a worthwhile adventure close to home?

Santiago set down his pen and stood, reaching up and arching his back to loosen the kinks left in his spine from sitting for too long. What he needed right now was a break. Maybe getting some fresh air and exercise would inspire him.

* * *

Santiago kicked a stone as he walked one of the many long rows in the vineyard. While an author by trade, he adored wine and the process of turning humble grapes into something magnificent fascinated him. Wine making was a hobby both he and his ex had enjoyed, and it was one of the first things that fell by the wayside after the divorce. He could no longer bear even drinking a glass of wine, but there were acres of land dedicated to growing a variety of both red and green grapes. Rather than letting all those grapes go to waste, he sold off the harvests to other vintners.

Surveying the bunches of this season's dark jewels hanging from their vines, he wondered if it wasn't time to reclaim this part of his life.

Squinting against the sun lowering above the distant hills, he pushed his sunglasses up his nose. He drew his foot back and kicked the stone away, startled when he heard a grunt a second later.

Santiago froze. He'd heard stories of drug traffickers cutting shortcuts through farmland, particularly farms located near the border or waterways, but he'd never felt unsafe on his own property. The crew that tended his fields had gone home, though, so who else would be out here? And did he dare find out?

After several moments of debate, he finally decided he was being ridiculous. What if it was someone who needed help? One of the crew? He'd never forgive himself if that's what it turned out to be. He had his fists if nothing else and he knew how to use them--had to. It was learn how to fight or take more beatings for being gay.

He took a few steps forward, trying to locate the source of the sound. Nearing the end of the row, he spotted the stone he'd kicked away--sitting next to a figure leaned against one of the wooden posts.

¿Hola? A fist clenched in the dirt. Definitely male, though he couldn't see the person's face from where he stood. When he didn't receive a reply, Santiago swallowed his fear and kept walking. ¿Estás bien? he tried. After a second thought he added, "Are you okay?"

Rounding the end of the row, his eyes widened. Slumped in the dirt was a man wearing dusty tattered jeans and a henley with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, revealing purpled bruises and dried smears of blood. His face was stuck in a pained grimace, hand clutched to his side, covering a large red stain.

"Ay dios mio," Santiago muttered. He'd expected someone with something easily remedied like heat exhaustion, not one with what was a gunshot or knife wound. Whatever the case may be, this guy needed help before he bled out.

Seeing no weapons, Santiago knelt just out of the man's reach. "Let me help you."

The man lifted his head, blue eyes as bright as the morning sky studying him. "Just need your phone."

"I don't have one with me but you can use one at the house." Santiago mentally kicked himself once the words were out. What was he doing inviting this stranger into his home? The man seemed harmless enough now but he also looked like the type who hid his true abilities well in that slim body of his.

The stranger's face twisted as he drew a breath. "Fine," he bit out through gritted teeth as he pushed himself up with his free hand. Steadying himself on the post he'd been leaning against, the stranger licked cracked lips as he stared at the buildings in the distance. "If the walk doesn't kill me first."

Before he could second guess himself, Santiago turned so they were side by side and cautiously touched the stranger's arm. The man hesitated, but then accepted the silent offer of support. "Thank you."

* * *

Sleep eluded Santiago that night. After getting the stranger--Michael he'd claimed was his name--settled in the guest house and collecting the supplies he'd requested, Santiago had watched in horror as Michael cleaned his own wound and stitched it closed. Exhausted, he'd picked at the food Santiago had brought before dozing off.

It has been hours since then. Was Michael waiting to kill him in his sleep, or would he vanish by morning?

Santiago stared at the ceiling. Had he done the right thing? While this qualified as an adventure, this was a bit too much to start with. He should've called the police but Michael had warned him against that or proper medical care. What normal person did that? _No one but a criminal_ , his mind supplied.

He snatched his phone from the nightstand and scrolled through his contacts list. Talking to someone would help ease his mind, although who would also be awake at this hour? Finger hovering over a name, he pressed the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

"San?" came Rosita's groggy reply from the other end. "Do you know what time it is?" She tended to keep late hours but it was always a gamble whether he'd catch her on a rare night she retired early. Tonight was one of those nights because she sounded like she wanted to kill him.

"I can't sleep," Santiago tried, hoping the pitiful edge to his voice would gain her sympathy.

"So you thought I shouldn't either?"

"Rosie, please. Something...happened today."

That woke her up. "Are you okay?"

He explained the events of the day, feeling more foolish with each word yet he couldn't stop himself. Someone needed to know--so they could help the authorities find the man who'd killed him.

"Are you insane?" she screeched in his ear.

"You told me I needed an adventure!"

"I meant something like cliff diving or an African safari."

"You know I'd never go cliff diving."

"Not the point, San."

He climbed out of bed with a huff and went to the window, peeking behind the heavy curtain. The lights in the guest house were still out and there was no movement or anything that struck him as amiss. Was Michael watching him? Waiting? Asleep? Was he even still here?

He let the curtain fall closed and went to the door, checking the lock again. Just in case, he dragged a chair over and wedged it under the knob.

"Why don't you just come here?" she asked as he climbed back under the covers.

"Because you're an hour away and it's almost 3 in the morning."

"You just _had_ to move to the middle of nowhere," she teased.

"This wouldn't be a problem if Javi--" Santiago caught himself before he finished but the familiar sting hurt all the same. It didn't matter. Javier hadn't lived here for a couple of years, and even when he had those last few years sure never felt like it.

He apologized to Rosita for waking her and assured her he'd be fine before he let her go. He'd been alone for years now and got by just fine whether he liked it or not. He could deal with this on his own too.

* * *

Powered by only a handful of hours of sleep, Santiago shuffled around the kitchen, making breakfast for the stranger since there was no food in the guest house. There had been no signs of anyone trying to break into his bedroom or the house in general that he could see, so that bode well. Or maybe he was too tired to care right now.

He arranged a plate of simple pastries and fruit, setting it on a tray along with a carafe of coffee, and set out across the property. He was still unsure why he seemed intent on treating this man as a guest despite knowing so little about him. Good karma, perhaps. Lord knew he could use some.

He knocked on the door, startled by the sight of Michael smiling at him when he opened the door. "Didn't know I'd be getting room service."

"I just figured I'd bring something with in case you were still here." Santiago stepped inside and around Michael to set the tray on the kitchenette counter. A paperback already sat there though he didn't mention it. He was sure it hadn't been there yesterday. Well, mostly sure. He had been preoccupied so it was quite possible his memory was spotty.

Michael reached around him and swiped a pastry from the plate as well as the book. "I appreciate it," he said with a smile in his voice. Santiago raised an eyebrow and watched Michael cross the small room to the couch where he stretched out on his back.

There was nothing debauched about the scene before him--just a shirtless man with a pastry hanging out of his mouth, thumbing through the pages of a book--but Santiago couldn't stop staring. Javier was a handsome man but Michael was on a whole other level of attractiveness with his chiseled features and lean, muscular build. He reminded Santiago of a jaguar: beautiful but wild and dangerous.

"So this is a romance?" Michael asked, pulling Santiago from his reverie. "There's no chemistry between these guys." Michael stuffed the pastry back in his mouth, freeing his other hand to turn the page. "No wonder the sex is so boring," he muttered to himself after he finished off his breakfast.

Santiago nearly choked on his saliva. "And just what makes you think you're some kind of expert?"

"You think I've never been in love?" Pale blue eyes met his as Michael licked sugar off his thumb. "With another man?"

Heat flared in Santiago's cheeks. In some deep recess of his mind he'd somewhat hoped Michael had some leaning in that direction, though such thoughts always seemed to end in disappointment for him. And even if Michael did have an appetite for men, there were still plenty of variables that could keep them apart. First and foremost being that he had no idea who Michael was or who he worked for.

"You--you don't exactly seem like the type."

Chuckling, Michael dog-eared the page he was on and set the book down. "Because that would be a death sentence in my line of work."

"So what _do_ you do anyway?"

"Private contractor."

Santiago considered pressing for details but decided against it. He couldn't believe a word Michael said, if that was even the man's real name.

"Now what about you?" Michael asked. "What's someone like you doing living all alone in that big house in the middle of nowhere?"

"Who says I'm alone?" Santiago sniffed.

"Haven't seen any signs of anyone else living here, and I don't imagine a boyfriend would approve of you taking care of handsome strangers," Michael said with a wink.

"For your information," Santiago said coolly, "there is no one else because we've divorced." He still loathed admitting that he'd somehow failed as a husband, but that was because of the judgement he always got, something he didn't suspect he'd get from this man.

Michael nodded. "I would say I'm sorry to hear that but I'm not. That guy clearly didn't know what he had."

"How can you say that when you don't even know what happened?"

The truth didn't even make an interesting story. After almost a decade together, they'd grown so distant there was no chance of rekindling what they once had. The worst part in his mind wasn't that it had happened at all, but that he was the only one who'd cared enough to try saving the marriage.

"Trust me when I say I know people," Michael said, offering him a warm smile. "I've seen every type there is, and I know it doesn't matter what happened because what I've seen? You're a good person, and people like you don't let shit like that change them."

Speechless, Santiago could only stare at the attractive mystery man taking up residence in his guest house. Would someone who intended him harm say such a thing?

"Now about this writing of yours," Michael said, waving the book in the air.

Pretending not to notice the obvious attempt at getting a reaction from him, Santiago took a seat in the chair opposite Michael. "What are you doing reading that anyway?"

"Got bored waiting for you to come entertain me, so I looked around." He flashed Santiago a crooked grin. "Didn't know there were books like that."

"You mean books about...men like us?" He glanced at Michael, but averted his gaze when blue eyes darkened with an intensity that threatened to consume him if he stared too long. As starved as he was for the touch of another, his heart couldn't handle something that would last only as long as Michael stayed. And that was if he trusted Michael enough, which he was still on the fence about.

"There's all sorts of them," Santiago said to distract himself. "And somehow you pick one of my worst ones to start with."

"I still like it," Michael said. "Takes a lot of talent to do something like this." Santiago didn't have to look at him to hear the smile in his voice. "Did you write any others involving government agents?"

When Santiago looked at him then, Michael's expression gave him pause. He was smiling but it was the intensity in his eyes that made Santiago's breath catch. Had he just shared a secret about his identity? "I--" Santiago licked his lips. "Yes. They should be over there somewhere."

Taking the opportunity to escape, Santiago shot out of the chair and went to the bookcase in the corner. Books were the one thing that made him feel at home no matter where he was. He wanted his guests to feel the same way too, so he'd made sure there was an ample selection from a variety of genres to choose from, some of his own works included. He pulled three books down and handed them to Michael, receiving another warm smile in return.

They chatted for a few more hours until Santiago excused himself to get lunch ready. He felt more confident that whoever Michael was, he didn't have any intentions of harming him. If he were being honest with himself, he looked forward to spending more time with Michael.

When he returned to the guest house, though, his heart sank when he found it empty. Of course it was. This wasn't some romance novel where things would somehow work out for him. He turned to leave but a scrap of paper sitting in the middle of the dark leather couch cushion drew his attention. He set the tray back down on the counter and went to inspect what he hoped was some kind of note.

_Thanks for everything, San. Hope you don't mind that I kept those books to read later._

TGH 195

It was a bittersweet message although he appreciated the gesture when Michael could have left without a word. But what did those letters and numbers mean?

Santiago turned the paper over but that side was blank. _TGH 195_. The only thing he could think of with those initials was his book 'The Gray Horse'--the same book Michael had been reading. If that was the case, the number had to be a page number. He nearly tripped over his own two feet in his haste to get to the bookshelf.

When he opened the book to page 195, though, there was no scrap of paper, no message scrawled on the page--nothing but his own words. What else could that code mean? He skimmed the page in a last ditch effort to decipher the code when he landed on the line he hoped Michael was referring to.

_"I can't explain everything right now but I will soon. Promise."_

* * *

_Six months later_

Sitting in the shaded courtyard connecting the two parts of his sprawling home, Santiago eyed the unfamiliar white jeep coming up the drive with suspicion, frowning when it parked next to his own car. He wasn't in any mood for visitors right now, not when he was busy working on another outline.

Looking away, Santiago continued scribbling notes in his notebook. While he never heard from Michael again, nor did he expect to, he knew there was a new book somewhere in that crazy experience. He'd met his previous deadline after distracting himself with writing. That had taken a month, and still no Michael at the end of it. So he kept on writing. Men would come and go, but he would always have his words to share with the world. _And maybe with Michael, wherever he was._

As days turned into weeks, Santiago's hope of ever seeing Michael again faded. _'Soon', what a joke._ And who was he fooling? They were nothing more than acquaintances brought together due to circumstances. What he had was a silly boyish crush, nothing more. Still, it didn't mean he couldn't be somewhat disappointed by the letdown.

A door slamming shut drew Santiago's attention away from his notes. He would've brought out his ear buds had he known his peace and quiet would be interrupted. He scowled in the direction of the vehicle but his heart stopped when he saw who was to blame for the disturbance.

Santiago leapt to his feet before he knew what he was doing, anger and joy warring inside him. He pulled up short, though, before he could hug Michael--or punch him. He'd fantasized about Michael's return--he was a romance author after all, it came with the territory--but the logical side of his brain knew it would never be real. Yet here he was, and Santiago had no idea how to deal with that. Six months was a long time to wait but he didn't want to give Michael the impression he had. He also didn't want Michael to think he was unwelcome. "What are you doing here?" he asked, struggling to maintain a neutral tone.

Michael's lips curved into a smile. "Did you find the note I left?"

"I did, although I'm still not quite sure what your little code meant," he lied. Not only was he almost certain he knew the meaning, but he'd also slid the note under the glass writing surface of his desk for safekeeping--and to ponder over further every time he sat there.

Michael closed the distance between them and took Santiago's face in his hands. "Then let me summarize." When Santiago didn't pull away, Michael slid their lips together. Fire surged through Santiago's veins, settling in his gut as a hunger for more. He wanted to throw his arms around Michael and deepen the kiss but he couldn't, not without knowing what was going on first.

As if sensing his reluctance, Michael drew back. "I'm sorry it took so long, San. When I left that note I thought I'd be back in a month or two, but then everything went to shit and..." He rubbed at the back of his neck in a sheepish gesture that made Santiago's lips twitch into a smile. "Okay, uh, I probably shouldn't have kissed you so sorry about that too."

"I didn't stop you, did I?"

"You didn't do anything."

Humming, Santiago carefully hooked his fingers on the pockets of Michael's jeans. "Perhaps because I was shocked. It has been awhile and suddenly here you are again expecting to pick up where we left off." He meant it in jest, though Michael's fallen expression said otherwise. Santiago tugged him closer. "I hope there will be many more kisses I can return, Miguel," he reassured, "but I need answers first, you know?"

Michael's hands settled on his hips, stoking that fire in his gut. It'd been so long since he'd last wanted someone that he'd forgotten what that first fall felt like. Still, he couldn't let his heart be swayed by a few nice gestures, not yet anyway.

"That's why I came back," Michael said. "I can't tell you everything right now, but maybe it'll be a start?" he asked, hopeful. Even if he wanted to say no, Santiago was powerless against those blue eyes silently pleading him for a chance.

"How long can you stay?" Santiago asked.

"As long as you want me to."

Santiago nodded. "Then join me for dinner and we'll see what happens." He threw Michael a wink over his shoulder as he went to gather his things from the table he'd been working at.

"Would it help my case any if I said I brought back those books I borrowed?"

Santiago barked out a laugh. "No, but I appreciate the gesture." 

"You're killin' me here, San," Michael complained as he followed Santiago through the courtyard. Santiago just rolled his eyes. Whatever happened between them, he would at least enjoy Michael's company while he had it.


End file.
